


stars bright above and below

by Selenay



Series: home is under a canvas sky [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint stared down at the blobs of cream floating on his mocha. "Is this about the guy I saw leaving when I was walking over?"</p>
<p>"You saw Nick?"</p>
<p>"Big guy, long coat, eye patch--that him?"</p>
<p>A coda to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1784959">home is under a canvas sky</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stars bright above and below

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't intend to write a coda to this _home is under a canvas sky_ , but I always knew Phil's background and what happened when he was finally able to tell Clint about it. As so many people asked about it, though, it seemed like a good idea to write it down.
> 
> Plus, I got to have fun returning to this verse for a little while.

Clint's breath turned to puffs of white in the crisp, cool evening air. Little lights in a dozen different hues twinkled around the circus grounds in the growing dusk, and the familiar sight sent a wave of contentment washing through him despite the frustrating afternoon. There was nothing like the week before Christmas with a circus. This far south the weather wasn't freezing, but it was cool enough to make some of the traditions about hot cider and warm pies very welcome. And the decorations that they put up made the rest of the year look almost dull; glitz and glitter and brilliant colours everywhere.

Clint waved goodbye to Natasha and walked across the uneven ground to his trailer, careful not to upset the tray of coffees that he was carrying, topped with a bag of pastries. The town they'd picked for their Christmas retreat had some great diners and coffee shops. Not that they'd planned it that way, obviously, although it wasn't the first time they'd pitched up here over the years.

His trailer door opened before he got there, spilling out warm light for a moment before being broken by a figure in a long dark cloak. Clint didn't recognise his silhouette. He didn't intend to stop and watch, but the unexpectedness of a stranger emerging from his trailer caught him off guard.

The unfamiliar figure didn't hang around; he stalked down the steps and climbed into a big, dark SUV parked in the shadows outside the ring of tents and trailers. The engine roared and he drove away.

Clint frowned after him, trying to push down the sudden sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach. There was a good reason why a guy in a big leather coat, driving a very government-looking SUV, had been visiting his trailer. Right?

Right.

He took a deep breath and finished the walk to his trailer. The door wasn't locked, but as Phil had moved in last month, that wasn't surprising. It led straight into their kitchen area, so Clint plastered a cheerful smile on before pushing it open. He dumped the tray of coffee on the counter so he could pull off his boots and kick them into a closet. By the time he'd tugged off his jacket and put it away as well, Phil was poking curiously at the bag of pastries.

"Good meeting?" Phil asked.

Clint shrugged. "Good as they ever are. We're here through New Year, anyway, and we've got permission for the special shows we talked about."

The quick kiss Phil brushed against his cheek seemed distracted, and Clint tried to pretend it was because of the bag of treats rather than the guy in the leather coat. That was a good explanation for it, right?

He grabbed the bag and tugged his festively decorated paper cup out of the tray. Phil took his coffee, but the usual appreciative smile wasn't there, which made Clint nervous.

When Phil sat down at their tiny dining table instead of leading the way to the couch, Clint got even more nervous. Phil turned his cup a couple of times between his hands, but he didn't drink from it.

Clint sat down and pulled the lid off his mug so he could scoop out a blob of sweet cream. He caught Phil watching him put it in his mouth, but his attempt to smile seductively felt more like a grimace. Yeah, he wasn't fooling anyone.

"Bear claw?" Clint asked, pushing the bag of pastries across the table.

Phil glanced down at the bag, but he didn't take one. He swallowed, looking more nervous than Clint had seen him since they'd first performed together.

"Clint--" Phil started to say, but Clint cut him off before he could get any further.

"So did I tell you about the new routine Marie's doing for Christmas Eve?" he asked, trying to smile brightly. "It's looking really great. You should come to one of her rehearsals. Actually, I think she's working with Natasha on it right now. We could--"

"Clint," Phil said, more firmly this time. "We need to talk."

"That's what I'm doing," Clint said desperately. "I'm talking. Words are emerging. That's technically what talking is."

The look Phil gave him--lips turning down at the corners, eyes shadowed--made him stop. That was one of Phil's unhappy looks. Clint didn't seem them often. Usually Phil had his whole hidden laughter look going on, which Clint loved more than he ever wanted to admit to out loud. Right now, there was no laughter hiding anywhere, and a band seemed to be tightening around Clint's chest every time he tried to meet Phil's eyes.

Clint stared down at the blobs of cream floating on his mocha. "Is this about the guy I saw leaving when I was walking over?"

"You saw Nick?"

"Big guy, long coat, eye patch--that him?"

Phil nodded.

"Then yeah, I saw him." Clint experimentally swirled his drink, and stopped when it threatened to wash over the edge of the cup all over his hand. "What did he want?"

"He came to offer me a job." Phil paused before adding, "My old job."

Clint looked up sharply. "He didn't look Army."

"That's because he's not."

"Oh. So, you weren't Army then."

Phil shook his head, his lips softening into something that wasn't quite a smile yet. But it wasn't as unhappy as it had been. "I wasn't Army. I'm sorry that I let you think that."

"What were you, then?"

Phil took a deep breath, which somehow made the hard lump lodging in Clint's stomach feel even worse. If Phil was nervous about admitting what he'd done before he joined the circus, it had to be bad. Clint couldn't even feel angry, yet, about the Army deception because the fear knotting every muscle of his body wasn't letting any other emotion in.

"I worked for an agency," Phil said. He was obviously choosing his words carefully. "You won't have heard of it."

"More secret than the CIA, then," Clint said, trying to make a half-hearted and terrible joke.

"A lot more secret," Phil agreed. "There was talk for a while about being a little less secret, but it didn't pan out."

"Oh. So, the whole secret agent guy, man in a suit look, that's because you really are a secret agent guy?"

Phil lifted one shoulder. "Maybe. Dressing up in something flashier didn't feel right."

"It's a good look on you. Did I mention that lately?"

"Not in my hearing." A tiny smile twitched at the corner of Phil's mouth for a moment. "You always seem to prefer trying to transfer as much glitter onto me as you can, whenever you can."

"And you love it."

"Maybe." This time Phil's smile was slyer, and it lasted for a fraction of a second longer before he sobered. "I was an agent for a long time. Blending in becomes second nature."

"I guess it does." Clint took a small sip of his drink. It was too sweet now that it was cool, but he drank it anyway. "So, your old boss offered your old job back. Is he the friend with a strange sense of humour?"

Phil blinked at him. "What?"

"When I asked you why you'd joined a circus, you said that you had a friend with a strange sense of humour. That was him?"

"I didn't think you'd remembered that."

"Neither did I, until right now."

"Yes, that's my friend with a strange sense of humour," Phil said. "Some things happened at the agency and it wasn't a good idea for me to be there for a while. He decided that a circus was the last place anyone would think of looking for me."

"I guess if you're used to blending in, standing out in the ring wouldn't be the most logical place to look for you," Clint said. "Plus, you'd be travelling around and kind of under the radar."

"There was that."

"And now all the things that happened are over? Everything's OK?"

Phil nodded. "Nick's cleaned house. It's safe for me to go back if I want to."

"Do you?"

"I don't know," Phil said quietly. "It's all I've done for thirty years. Nick recruited me right out of high school. The last year...it's the first time I've done anything that wasn't related to that world for a very, very long time."

"You shouldn't make a decision about going back based on me," Clint said. He was surprised by how even his voice sounded.

"Why not?"

"Because...because..." Clint gave up and waved a hand, trying to pretend he wasn't flailing a little. "You shouldn't. That's all. I'm just this guy."

"This guy I happen to lo--be very fond of," Phil said. "This life is something I couldn't have while I was working for Nick."

"Yeah, but like you said. Thirty years. That's a lot of history to say no to."

Phil sat back, eyes sharp as he watched Clint. It was kind of uncomfortable to have all that focused attention and Clint shifted in his chair, lifting his cup to drink and putting it down untouched.

He tried to ignore the look, but eventually he had to ask, "What?"

"You're taking this better than I expected," Phil said. "I thought you'd be angrier."

"I'm working on getting there," Clint said. "Pretty sure I'll be angry soon. Right now, I'm still at numb. Maybe a little sad. Did you ever tell me anything real?"

"As much as I could," Phil said, leaning forward earnestly. "I didn't expect any of this, but I tried to avoid lying to you as often as I could."

"Um, thank you?"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

Clint lifted the cup to his lips, but it was mostly cold now and the taste made him gag. Actually, the whole conversation was making his stomach knot and churn, and he suddenly couldn't stand to be there anymore. He had to get out, get some air, before he choked. His breath was coming too fast and his vision was blurring as he stood up.

He was vaguely aware that Phil reached for him, but his hand didn't connect. Clint wasn't sure what he would have done if Phil had managed to touch him. Shrug him off, probably, because no matter how Clint felt, he couldn't turn around and hit the guy. That wasn't in him, that instinct to lash out when he was unhappy.

Clint tugged on his boots and stumbled out of the trailer, out in the cold night air where he could finally breathe again.

***

Clint's first instinct was to find Natasha. She'd know what to say, how to make him feel less terrible. Her tent was dark, though, and he remembered too late that she was helping Marie with her new silks routine. Neither of them would appreciate his presence in the big top while they were working, and they were both fucking terrifying when they were angry.

Talking to Natasha wasn't an option.

For a while, Clint wandered aimlessly around the circus grounds. The brilliantly coloured lights and the tinsel garlands fluttering in the breeze still made him smile, but the moments of cheerfulness seemed to be almost instantly swallowed by a deep sense of loneliness.

Phil was probably leaving. A life with the circus, with Clint, couldn't compare to all the things he'd probably done. He was some kind of hero, and Clint's breathing got uneven every time he thought about that, so he tried not to. Tried to shut out the part of him that was fascinated by it all, so he could focus completely on the part of him that was angry about everything.

Except he wasn't, not really. Deep down, he'd always known that Phil hadn't told him everything. Okay, yeah, he hadn't realised how much of Phil's life he hadn't known about. That stung. Or it should sting; he thought it should sting. It should hurt like nothing else ever had, because Phil knew all the big things about his life and Clint didn't know anything about Phil's.

_I tried to avoid lying as much as I could._

The memory of those words, spoken so intently, echoed through Clint's mind. Maybe they were true. If Clint really thought about it--something he usually tried to avoid--Phil hadn't specifically told him much about his life. He'd told stories about his childhood, sure, and they'd talked about what they were doing right now, but Clint had mostly made guesses about Phil's training and tried to read something into the small smiles Phil gave him.

Small smiles that he was re-evaluating completely. Maybe Phil had been doing the secret smile thing because he found Clint's guesses hilarious, but he didn't seem like that kind of guy. Even knowing what he knew now, Clint didn't think he was.

Nope, those smiles had been something else. Something to hide what he couldn't say.

Clint's head was hurting from all the confusion and thinking. He needed someone to talk to, but Natasha was busy, and it wasn't as though he could talk to anyone else in the circus about any of this.

He wasn't aware that he'd pulled out his phone and unlocked it until he looked down and realised he was scrolling towards Meg's contact info. For a moment, he hesitated with his thumb hovering over her name, before giving in and making the call.

There was a lot of noise in the background when she picked up. Clint frowned, trying to do the mental count to check that it really was Monday, which was always the night the diner closed earlier. Yup, Monday.

"Clint?" she asked. "Is everything okay?"

In the background, a child shrieked. Underneath that, Clint could hear enthusiastic carol singing and a lot of childish giggling.

"Did I call at a bad time?"

"Really, really, no," Meg said. "Actually, this is great. I can hide from them, because I have an important phone call now."

Clint frowned. "What?"

"Second grade Christmas party," Meg said. "Sophie signed me up to chaperone. They're all sugared up and insane, it's horrible."

"Aren't you the one who does the signing?"

Meg snorted. "You haven't forgotten Sophie that much yet, have you?"

A vision of Sophie floated through Clint's mind, all blonde curls and deceptively innocent grin, which hid the mind of a particularly Machiavellian almost-seven year old.

"Oh," he said.

"Exactly."

"How was the date with Jimmy?" Clint asked, with as much cheer as he could force.

"Clint."

"What? I'm curious. I get to be curious, when you start dating guys all over the place the moment I leave and can't vet them for douchiness anymore."

"The date was fine."

"Just fine?"

There was a loud sigh. "We made out like teenagers in his car for an hour when he brought me home, okay? It was great. You don't need to vet Jimmy, you cooked him eggs and bacon almost every day for three years. He's a good guy."

"Yeah, but--"

"And you didn't call to ask me about your date," Meg said, talking right over Clint. "That's what we talk about on Saturday mornings. You've called me on a Monday night, so something's up. What did you do?"

"Why do you immediately assume I did something?"

"Because you usually have?"

Clint shrugged, conceding the point. "This time it's not me. Well, it kind of is, but not that way."

"Hold on, this sounds like it actually is important." There was a click and the sound of party music and children was immediately muffled. "Okay, tell me everything. Actually, wait, why aren't you talking to Natasha?"

"She's busy. And did you just hide in a closet or something?"

"I can hang up on you any time," Meg said. "Quit trying to avoid talking about this. You called me, remember? That means something big is up."

Clint sighed and stared up at the sky. He was outside the circle of lights now, and the stars twinkled brightly overhead. He traced the outline of the Big Dipper until the silence got too awkward. "Phil told me some stuff about his past."

"Bad stuff?"

"Not bad. Not exactly." Clint frowned. "Just...different from what I expected, I guess."

"So you're not angry about it?"

"No...no, I guess not. I get why he couldn't tell me earlier. There were really good reasons, actually. Huh."

"So, what else happened?"

"That's not enough?"

"You're calling me on a Monday night," Meg pointed out. "So far, this is an 'I can wait for Natasha to finish her stuff' kind of call, not an emergency call to me thing. So, what else did he say?"

"He's been offered a job," Clint said quietly. "The one he had before he joined the circus."

"Oh."

"Yeah. It's probably a great job. He seemed proud of what he used to do."

Over the line, Meg sighed. "And you probably got all noble and self-sacrificing, and told him to do what he wanted because he shouldn't stay with the circus just for you. And then you walked out."

"Um."

Meg made a sound that might have been a muffled groan, if Clint didn't think she was too dignified for that kind of thing. "Clint Francis Barton, you are a dumbass."

"I thought you were on my side!"

"I am. That's why I'm calling you a dumbass. An idiot. Dumbest ass I know. Seriously."

"What did I do?"

"The fact that I have to explain it to you is a really big problem right now."

Clint pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it before replacing it. "I'm lost."

"Yeah, you really are." Meg made another exasperated noise. "Clint, unless he's a totally different guy from the one you've told me about, he probably made some kind of feelings declaration, right?" She didn't wait for an answer, ploughing straight on, and Clint was grateful for that. "He probably also said that he hasn't made a decision yet, because he wanted to talk to you about it first. And he's probably waiting in your trailer right now, desperately afraid that you're going to pack him off to wherever he came from because you're too much of a dumbass to ask him to stay."

"You think he wants me to do that?"

"Argh, Clint, if you fuck this up, I'm going to kill you the next time you visit. No lie. Go and talk to the guy. Ask him to stay, if you really want him to. Forget about self-sacrificing nobility; it's not as much fun as everyone makes out."

"So, I should ask him?"

"I'm going to kill you with a rusty spork."

***

Clint was shivering when he stood on the steps to his trailer again. He'd forgotten to grab his jacket when he left, and the night was too chilly to stand around in jeans and t-shirt for hours the way he'd done. He almost knocked at the door, before deciding that was absolutely ridiculous.

Warm air and the scent of spicy stew wafted over him when he stepped inside. He pulled off his shoes and shoved them in the closet. A pot was bubbling gently on the hot plate, probably something from the cook tent, and two places had been set at the dining table.

Phil was sitting on the couch with a book, but he didn't seem to have got past the first page. He looked up warily.

"So, Meg says I'm a dumbass," Clint said slowly. He paused before adding, in a rush, "She said I should just tell you that I don't want you to leave because I maybe kind of love you and it would feel like shit being here without you and I've been happier over the last few months than I've ever been before and...uh, that's it. I guess."

"What did Natasha say?"

Clint felt heat crawl up his neck, because Phil was too perceptive sometimes. "The same thing. But in Russian, with a lot more swearing."

Phil nodded slowly. His throat worked as he swallowed. "And are they right?"

Clint shrugged. "I guess."

"Which parts?"

"All of it?"

The warmth that blossomed in Phil's eyes was so startling, so beautiful, that Clint was breathless for a moment.

"That's a lucky thing, then," Phil said after a long pause, "because I've already told Nick that I'm staying here."

"You have?"

"I love you. How can I leave that?"

Clint opened his mouth, trying to say something intelligent or even just heartfelt, but the words wouldn't come. They tangled around his teeth and tongue leaving him speechless and overwhelmed. After a couple of abortive attempts, he gave up and crossed the room to kiss Phil instead. He leaned down, propping himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and tried to put everything he was feeling into it. Phil's fingers traced the line of his jaw, the feather-light touch raising pleasant tingles in its wake, and Clint pressed closer.

He was barely aware of the moment when Phil tugged him down to straddle his thighs. Clint was lost in the perfection of slow, clinging kisses that made him feel so thoroughly loved it shouldn't have been possible to survive the experience.

When they finally broke for air, Clint rested his forehead against Phil's and met his eyes. "I guess we're in this for the long haul, then."

"I guess we are," Phil said quietly, and pulled him down for another kiss. 

The stew had burnt onto the bottom of Clint's second favourite pan by the time they remembered it. He didn't grumble about it, though. He was getting to keep Phil forever, and that thought was more than he'd ever hoped for in his life.


End file.
